Well, that relative peace was short lived. Potentially even a new record time for someone bothering him. And this one was so much fun, because not only was there now somebody talking to him, but now he was damp, as well. Maverick groaned. So much work had gone into this outfit, and now it was all wet with what he hoped was water. At least he was wearing the hat and therefore his hair was shielded. His thick waves would only get angrier if assaulted by liquid like the rest of him.

And dear God, a worse dressed kid to spill stuff on him, there could not be. This guy looked like garbage. From the grossass manbun to the pacman socks with sandals, he was head-to-toe ridiculous. And what the hell was with the aviators? Yes, okay, Maverick was also wearing them, but he had his reasons. What was this guy’s excuse? Maverick’s generous opinion was that any of the clothing items before him could be fine in their own place and time, but together, they combined to form potentially the worst outfit he had ever been forced to experience.

The sixth year took a sharp breath in. “Whatever,” he grumbled. It was nowhere near okay, and the boy’s apology didn’t dry him off any, but it wasn’t worth getting into a fight on the first day. “Just… don’t do it again. Maybe work out how to use your arms and then get back to me.” Not that Mave really wanted that boy to get back to him, like, ever. He just wanted everybody to go away.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible as, ironically, it seemed the only House Elf remaining that offered beverages was on the other side of this weirdo. Which meant Maverick now had to ask for a drink from the boy who just spilled a drink on him. Fate was cruel like that. “....Can you pass me one of those?” he asked reluctantly, gesturing to the glasses held by that particular Elf.

It hadn’t been intentional, but when Russell began moving towards the mid-grey-Cetus fire, he realized that he had colour-coordinated his tank top with it. Er, at least, greyscale-coordinated. More... more

Russell was fully prepared to get cursed out, or at least shunned indefinitely. Or possibly punched. The dark, solid greys of his clothes, plus the promise of revolution, didn’t exactly inspire... more